


Numb

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, But not on purpose, Castiel (Supernatural) Needs Help, Dark, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: “Castiel’s stomach growled again, as though angered by his decision to not eat. He smiled. This was a way he could pay penance. He deserved more. He deserved Hell. But at the moment, living like this seemed almost worse.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here’s another Hurt!Cas story for y’all! Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Warnings in end notes.

He knew something was wrong. As much as Sam and Dean treat him as an ignorant child, he has the knowledge of centuries. Has watched humans go through their lives for an eternity. Some people think these problems were limited to a certain time. Or a special kind of person. But more than anything, he's proof that it's not. 

______________

Being human made everything more sensual. Hot, cold, touch, smell. Everything just seemed so much more alive and real than it had as an angel. 

At least at first. 

Despite how horrid his first few days after the Fall were, there was something tantalizing about them. The taste of that cold can of soup a homeless man gave to him was enough to make his eyes water. The cold that nipped and bit at his skin despite his layers was refreshing, even with the pain it brought. And the feeling of warmth after all the more welcome and savored. And then April. Her voice was more melodic than anything he'd heard. Her skin so soft. She'd brought him to heights of feeling that he'd never thought were possible. 

And those were just the real things. The tangible objects. There was also comfort and safety in her bed, happiness in her inflection. A feeling of gratitude and hope as she took him in. 

Of course, that was before. Before she'd taken his blade and shoved it under his throat. Before she told him that it'd all been a ruse, a way to get at his supposedly mighty self. Shoved his own weakness and humanity into him in the form of ethereal steel. Then, he felt dirty. Used. Pervaded in a way he'd never thought he would. Something so human and evil that it made him almost wish the Apocalypse would have happened, if not for anything other than to save any more humans from going through this. 

Pain wasn't something new, but the emotions it brought were. Fear, in every movement of her hand. Trailing along his chest, ruffling his hair. Paralyzing in its intensity. The helplessness, being restrained and at another's mercy. Knowing that at any moment, a flick of his blade could end his life. Feeling surged through and rubbed his nerves raw, until every change in the lilt of her voice made him tense. 

It was over quickly, though. Dean and Sam found him. They kicked in the door and charged in, managing to kill the reaper in a few short seconds. Then green eyes flitted to him, the blood on his chest. Stalked over and untied the rope pinning him to the chair, who's blue fabric was now stained red. Looked him right in the eyes and- 

yelled at him. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, seemingly ignoring his groan of pain, and shook him. Hard. Enough that his knees nearly buckled with the sudden onslaught of dizziness. And there were the words. That he should have been more careful, that he should have called them. That this was all his fault. And he knew that Dean was right. Not just about getting captured by April, tortured, but also being vulnerable in the first place. The Fall. All his fault. 

There was a sudden numbness in his chest, slowly spreading through his body. Not even a feeling, but a lack of one. So much worse than how it'd been as an angel, because now he was supposed to feel. It wasn't right, to just have this emptiness where his heart should be. 

Sam had placed a steadying hand on his brother's arm, pulling him gently away. The older Winchester stalked off into the hall, huffing something about not coming to his rescue again. Sam re-buttoned his shirt, wincing at the blood. He said more, but it was muddled. He couldn't really make out what he was saying, just went along with whatever motion that seemed necessary. Walked stiffly to the car, sat in the backseat, always his spot, less than the brothers. 

He fell asleep on the ride back to the bunker, but even as he dreamed, that numbness was still there. 

__________________  


Eating. At first, it'd been interesting, even good. So many flavors and textures and smells to go along with every meal. Even the less desirable foods had been so full of feelings that he couldn't get enough. 

In the bunker, alone for most of the time except for his thoughts, everything seemed different. 

There was an apple in front of him. Healthy, sweet fruit. His stomach had growled before, which indicated hunger, so he'd taken it from the kitchen. But something stopped him from taking a bite. A voice just lingering in the back of his mind. He didn't deserve food, especially anything as good as this. He caused the Fall, for his brethren to not only lose their sense of purpose but also their wings. And then there were his sins more recent. Allowing April to use him like that, causing the Winchesters trouble and danger. 

He unconsciously fingered the edge of one bandage that peeked out from the corner of his shirt. A cut which ran clean across his ribs and stomach. The deepest one, requiring stitches. Something which Dean had said took too long. He was right. They could have been researching, hunting, saving people more worthy than him. They'd wasted supplies cleaning his cuts, lost sleep that they sorely need. 

He took the apple back to the fridge, placing it onto a shelf. Someone else could get much more use from it. Probably Sam and Dean, once they got back from their hunt. A ghoul, out across the country. They'll use its nutrients to power themselves. It would have been wasted on him. 

Sitting down, he let his hands trail over the grain of the wood. Solid oak, each ring preserved in the table. This place was a refuge, one he shouldn't have. But he couldn't leave, either. That would cause Dean and Sam pain, and he wouldn't be the cause of any more of that, he wouldn't. 

His stomach growled again, as though angered by his decision to not eat. He smiled. This was a way he could pay penance. He deserved more. He deserved Hell. But at the moment, living like this seemed worse. 

_______________  


He spent the next two weeks in a perfect kind of pain. One of his choosing. Righteous. 

By the time the brothers' hunt was over, he could barely stand. It took all his effort to make it up the long winding staircase and open the door. 

Sam and Dean walked down with barely a greeting and a second glance his way, before continuing their conversation. Something about an old bet from years ago. Something that didn’t include him. 

After getting settled, they insisted on checking his wounds. None were still open, but one needed stitches out. After, they went about making dinner, and he went into a bedroom. He didn’t have his own. It’s not like he should. He didn’t live here. This was only temporary until he wasn’t too pitiful to survive on his own. 

Smells drifted from the kitchen, and his stomach protested weakly. He was hungry. That was good. It hadn’t been easy to resist the urge to eat, but he had. Maybe he was strong at least in that way. He could inflict his own penance. 

Dean called that dinner was ready. He walked down halls as empty as his heart, until he finally got to the kitchen. They were both already eating, burgers between their fingers. 

He wanted to make an excuse. Nearly did. But he managed to sit himself calmly at the table, in front of a burger made specifically for him. Why had Dean gone to the trouble? Even without the humans knowing about his penance, it would have been fine for him to just eat some vegetables or something. Why had they put in so much effort? 

Dean made a joke. He knew the burger wasn’t going to bite him, but that didn’t make it any easier to bring to his mouth. He took a single tentative bite, before nearly eating the thing whole. After a week of no food, this seemed like a savior in the form of meat, cheese, and bun. Dean made another joke, but Cas ignored him. 

They all went to bed after, each to their separate rooms. Leaving him alone with his thoughts once again. And they screamed at him. He’d given in to temptation. Had desecrated the death of every one of his brothers and sisters he’d caused. All because of a burger. 

He gripped his arm hard, feeling a bone shift under the grip. It felt... good. Knowing that there would be a bruise in that exact spot tomorrow, full of pain. Just right. 

After a few minutes, when his thoughts started drifting away from just bruising, he forced himself into bed. Shut off the lights and laid down. But his stomach growled again, as though yelling at him for his mistakes. 

Centuries and centuries of torture and battle had never prepared him for the sheer weight of self-deprecating thoughts. It felt as though he was being nailed into a coffin, trapped by his actions and mistakes into a single course of action. 

Movements felt mechanical. Unreal. His arm pushed back the covers, his legs swung out from under them, but he wasn’t really in control. More of just watching his body move. 

He staggered to the bathroom. The room spun, and he kept one hand trailing across the wall for balance. It was quiet save soft footsteps and even softer breaths. 

He reached the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. The face of what used to be his vessel, now him, was before Cas. Eyes dull, cheeks sunken. He looked sick. No wonder the brothers had wanted to check his wounds. They probably thought they were infected. His fault. He caused them to worry. 

Scars crisscrossed his chest, from April. One cut still nearly open and red, just having stitches taken out. Reminders of how he’d been caught off guard. How he’d been used. 

There was a razor behind him, in the shower. Balancing on a bar of soap that should have had a smell, but he just couldn’t sense. Dean had taught him how to shave. He’d felt horrible for being that much of an imposition. 

It took him a pitiful amount of time to break it open and take out the blades. Three laid out on the counter. He took one in his hand. 

Dean and Sam were sleeping a few rooms over. They would see. He needed somewhere hidden. They may still check his chest for the next few days, to see his wounds. That left his legs. 

He stripped off his sweatpants, eyed the unmarred skin. Hunters would have scars, from monsters. Callouses instead of smooth hands. All from saving people. He really was disgusting. 

There wasn’t a lot of pain, from the blade. Nothing compared to his only other experience as a human, under April. But the following burst of feeling took him off guard. 

It was more than it had been ever before. As though everything he’d missed in the past weeks was suddenly flooding him. Clothes scratched nearly painfully against his skin, and he struggled to pull them off. Knelt down on the floor, naked, and savored the cool agony that came from the tile. 

His head spun a bit. Suddenly his thoughts were shouting at him again, but this time he could feel emotion with it. The guilt, the sorrow. And not only that, but also the burger in his stomach. Food he’d caused Dean to have to go to the trouble of making. Food that someone else could have eaten. 

He stuck two fingers deep into his throat, before leaning over the toilet. Sensations and tastes and smells assaulted him, and he could only groan and moan with the sheer forced of it. Prayers to God to be saved, that he both wanted and didn’t to be answered. 

Before finally, after everything, he gave into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

The ghoul hunt had taken two weeks. Tracking down that monster was way harder than they had thought it was going to be. It was supposed to be an easy hunt, or they wouldn’t have taken it so soon after everything with Cas. But one thing led to another, and soon enough it’d been half a month in a motel room in San Francisco. 

But they found that fugly soon after, and booked it back to the bunker. Thoughts kept running through his head, of what if Cas is hurt? What if he didn’t explain something well enough or there was something the ex-angel just didn’t understand? 

Sam tried to keep him sane, telling him it would be fine and torturing him with old stories about their previous prank wars. Nair in the shampoo, still the best one ever. 

And then, finally, they’d reached home. And there was Cas, looking tired and haggard and not very healthy, but alive, answering the door. He looked kinda out of it, almost half there, but he didn’t press. Physically he seemed fine, and he wasn’t about to delve into all that emotion-y stuff. 

Sam insisted they check his wounds, despite Cas’ assurances that they were fine. That took a solid hour, what with all those stitches they had to pull out. That reaper had really done a number on him. 

He still felt bad about that night. Yelling at Cas right after being carved up by an inhuman bitch was totally not a good call. But seeing him there, so close to dead, was hard. After everything with Sammy and the Trials, he just couldn’t bear to see another friend dead. Another brother dying. 

It was probably part of that guilt that made him make burgers that night. Meat bought fresh. Everything perfect. After a bit of coaxing, he got Cas out of his room. Or, at least, room eleven. They’d told him he could have room eight, next to theirs, but whatever. If he wanted to sleep somewhere else, all the more to him. 

At dinner, Sam was complaining about the greasy food, but Cas just stared at his burger for a long minute. Enough that he made a joke, both to lighten the mood and draw Sam’s attention. But Cas barely acknowledged him, simply picking it up and taking a small bite. 

Before he went and full on inhaled the thing. Like, within a minute it was gone, barely a grease stain on the plate. And Cas just sat there, looking all the more like the cat with a canary feather. Except instead it was a bit of ketchup that lingered on his chin and lips. 

He left pretty fast after that, nearly tripping over the chair. He blamed himself even more. Cas was hungry. Practically starving. And he hadn’t bothered to give him more than a preliminary ‘eat this, don’t eat that.’ No wonder he ate so quickly. 

They finished their food in a silence that felt way too uncomfortable, before shoving off to their rooms. They’d talk to Cas tomorrow, make sure he knew all the ins and outs of eating and anything else he may not know. 

Sometimes, it felt like living with a child. 

_____________________  


“Dean! Wake up!” San said, pushing against his shoulder. Way too insistently for the day after a long hunt. 

“‘o away.” He grumbled, and buried his face deeper in the pillow, before feeling the soft fabric pulled sharply from under his head. He let out a groan, sitting up and fully ready to clock his brother in the nose. 

Before he saw Sam’s expression. Fear. Spread out plainly across his features. Any tiredness he felt washed swiftly away at that. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, shoving back the covers and pulling on a pair of pants. “Is it angels or-?” 

“It’s Cas.” Sam replies, before grabbing his shoulder as he struggled with the fly to his jeans. He pulled him out of his room, leading him down the hallway. “I was sleeping, and there was a scream. I found him in the bathroom.” 

He winced. He should have woken up, if there was a scream. Hell, he’d been startled awake by a fly landing on the wall beside him once. Although there had been that glass of whiskey he drank. And the beer... 

“Is he alright?” The older hunter asked, worry bubbling up. 

“It’s... it’s bad, Dean.” His brother replied, just as they turned into the bathroom. 

Cas was lying on the floor, naked. He tried to focus past the miles of skin on display and more on the important things. Like the little bit of blood on one thigh, the blade that littered the ground by a finger. The sick that was still sitting in the open toilet, enough to make him gag. 

He swore, running over to his friends side. There was a bit of blood in his hair, and on the side of the porcelain seat. He must’ve hit his head. He then checked his leg, but the cut there was small. He tried not to think more about that. 

Cas was thin. Not anorexic-model thin, but much more than he should have been. Ribs able to be counted on each inhale, collarbone a bit too prominent. It’d all been covered by his clothes earlier. And the bit of vomit that was on his fingers... 

He scooped the fallen angel into his arms, trying to ignore skin pressed to his bare chest. He carried Cas to his own room,and laid him down carefully on his bed. Took out a set of his clothes and dressed the angel, cheeks burning despite the situation. Pulled the covers across and just stood there, unsure what to do. 

A hand laid on his shoulder, and before he could really process he twisted it, forcing the attacker to the ground. Only, it was just Sam, now taking in a shaky gasp after the wind got knocked out of him. 

“Sam! Fuck, sorry, man.” He offered a hand to his brother, which Sam took, although he grimaced. “I just-“ He ran a sweaty palm though his hair. 

“It’s fine, Dean. I get it.” Sam glanced down at the angel currently in his bed. “We need to talk about this.” 

There was something in his brother’s tone that made Dean not want to meet his eyes. “About what? He’s just sick, Sam. Probably because of how fast he ate that burger or something. And he hit his head when he fell. He is human now.” 

Sam looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “And the cut?” 

He was silent. 

“I think we both know what happened, Dean.” 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t process that Cas had done this on purpose. Couldn’t find a way to connect those two things without making his brain short-circuit. 

“No.“ 

“Dean-“ 

“Shut up, Sam. You’re wrong.” 

“You know I’m-“ 

“Shut! Up!” He walked quickly over to a wall, punching it forcefully. Pain radiated down his hand, numbing. 

Slowly he turned, saw Sam’s worried eyes and haggard face. “Watch him. I’m getting a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the end right now. It is possible that I will pick this fic up later and decide to continue it, but at the moment that's pretty unlikely.
> 
> ~You are loved, and never alone. We are here for you, and you are enough.~

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Graphic depictions of eating disorders  
> Self-harm. 
> 
> Please kudo or comment, and thanks for reading everyone!


End file.
